Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 428

A Question…

No guest, just me. Today, I’m going to spend a little time updating my monthly goals and schedule, and then it’s right back into the two projects I’m trying my best to finish up. So without further ado, here’s your question…

Say you won a national contest and the prize was a personal, twenty-minute

concert from the artist of your choice, who would you choose? 

Psst! Remember, Sasha’s contest from yesterday, is still open! Three books to three separate winners!

Sasha White: The Lush Series (Contest)

The Lush series releases in Digital and print on Feb 11, 2014. If you ’ re interested in an Advance download be sure to comment here. There will be three chances to win, and Delilah will announce the winners on Monday!

One of the most common questions for a writer is “Where do you get your ideas?” or “What inspires you?” I find this question both the easiest thing to answer – and the hardest – because my true answers are not that romantic or inspirational.

Mostly, my ideas come from real life people – the ones I see on the streets, talk to in the mall, or read about in the news. Occasionally music or a picture will stir the muse, but basically, life inspires me.

However, being able to pay my bills at the end of each month also inspires … it inspires me to plant my butt in the chair and get my fingers dancing across the keyboard, even when it’s the last thing in the world I really want to do.

Unromantic, but it’s true.

It’s not often I can pinpoint exactly what inspired a story idea for me, but with the LUSH stories I can. The opportunity to write a single author anthology for Kensington came at the same time I wanted to shift gears a bit with my storytelling. Most of my stories tend to be on the edgy/raw side of things, but I wanted to try something …. LUSH. And yes, the title did come first.

But what is LUSH? Think erotic, romantic, decadent… that’s what I decided LUSH was. I’m a big believer that things don’t have to be explicit to be erotic. A kiss can be erotic. The brush of skin against skin, or the scent of the pillow after your lover leaves the bed, and you’re still curled up warm in bed. Those things are erotic. Those things are Lush.

With the idea of a decadent series in mind, I thought about setting. Often my stories are set in bars or cafes or retail stores…like I said, every day life. But for this, I thought an art gallery would be perfect. And not just any art gallery, but one that specialized in erotic art, and the woman who makes it happen.

I’d love to show you some of the things I found during my planning that inspired the characters and stories, but they are not for everyone’s taste, therefore, I’d like to encourage you all to surf over to my website, and visit the LUSH GALLERY built there. You can view some truly erotic photography, a sculpture that I placed in the gallery, and then follow the link to the Bookpages for some excerpts. 

So, for the first time in my life, I planned a series. Yes, they are only novellas, but for a panster like me who doesn’t ever plot, this was a big deal. Okay, I admit it…I planned it pretty loosely. I just planned the character connections, and then let them run free during their stories, and I have to say, I fell in love with them all. Each story has a different feel, but they all retain the erotic decadence that defines LUSH.

Eight years ago when it released, it got fabulous reviews, but not a ton of readers because erotic romance wasn’t as prevalent as it is today, so now that I’m re-releasing them all again, I’m really hoping more readers will discover the Lush Gallery and fall in love with it, and the people who are connected to it.

Want to win an advance Download of One of these novellas? Answer this question in the comments.

If you could be an artist, what form would you work in?

Photography? Sculpting? Glass? Jewelry? Wood?

Excerpt from PASSION PLAY

I decided to give you the first meeting between the hero and heroine instead of the first chapter. I have to admit, I found this story very fun to write because both characters were very strong and came through loud and clear to me. Which is why both Dominick and Mia are in first person.

DOM

The early evening sun felt great beating down on my shoulders as I strolled through the small park area that separated the new offices from where I’d had to park. Parking along Whyte Avenue wasn’t easy to find, especially with all the shops and businesses on the street. But at least the warm September made it an easy walk to the lot.

My mind was quiet as I walked … peaceful. There was no regret for what I’d just done. It felt pretty damn good actually. Better than I’d ever thought possible. Writing was my addiction, but Tom was right; it had been a long time coming. For the first time in the six months since Terrance had taken over the paper, I felt human again. Like I could finally move forward.

The question was, forward to where? I’d never been unemployed before.

Forget it. I refused to think about that right now. Tonight I’d celebrate.

Only my brain wouldn’t cooperate. Options and ideas flowed steadily. There were plenty of things I could do. Tons of local papers and magazines I could write for, or maybe even write that novel I’d always wanted to write.

My gut clenched at that thought. Nah, I wasn’t ready to tackle that yet. I’d start looking into other periodicals tomorrow. Maybe even try some freelance work for some men’s magazines. The work is always out there.

If worst came to worst, there was always Teal’s gallery. I could sell erotic art. Hell, I could sell anything if I had to.

Suddenly, a bundle of curves hit me head on, the world tilted and I was flat on my back before I could blink. The air jumped from my lungs in a swift rush and something hard smacked into my mouth.

“Ouch!”

I squinted at the female cry of pain and tried to catch my breath. The soft bundle of warm wiggling curves on top of me wasn’t helping matters any. A soft moan made my dick twitch and I sucked on my bruised bottom lip.

When I could breathe again, I shifted so that the sun was blocked by the armload of sweet-smelling woman, and focused on her face. 

Smooth fair skin, plump red, cock-sucking lips, diamond stud in her left nostril, and eyes that were so dark they looked black. Eyes that held the same shock I felt.

“Ouch. My head and your chin are not a good match,” she chuckled.

Her breath was a sweet breeze across my lips and I was suddenly acutely aware of the way she straddled my hips.

“Hel-lo,” I said softly.

She stilled. Our eyes locked and I saw awareness dawn in hers. Then they started to sparkle. Damn, she’s hot!

She put a finger to my lip. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix.”

A delicate eyebrow arched and I waited for her to smack me one. Instead, her lips tilted up at one corner and she lowered her head slowly.

Oh, yeah. I lifted up to meet her, my mouth inexorably drawn to hers.

Soft plump lips pressed against mine and my blood heated and my body tightened as our tongues tangled. Hot and wet, she tasted of caramel and whipped cream. She pressed her hips against me and my cock throbbed, eager to get in on the action. I ran one hand up the curve of her spine and the other down to cup a firm ass.

She tore her mouth away to nuzzle against my neck and a shiver ripped down my spine. Her head tilted to get better access and the sun blinded me … along with the knowledge of where we were.

I groaned. Shit, we were in the middle of the park.

“Uhmm.” I tried to speak, but her tongue in my ear made it difficult to think, let alone talk. I slid my hand to the back of her head, tangled my fingers in her silky hair, and tugged.

“Ooh!” she cooed as she came away, the sound making me wish we didn’t have to stop.

Our eyes met and the heat there made my fist clench with the urge to pull her hair again. To flip her over and tangle my hands in her hair, spread her thighs, and plunge home.

A rowdy cry of, “Get a room, would ya?” made her sit up and flip off the passerby. A chuckle built inside me at her actions and I shifted, unable to not press up against her warmth. A woman after my own heart.

“I think I’m in love,” I said.

She looked down at me, planted her hands on my chest and pushed to her feet.

She laughed, shaking her head in way that made her red hair dance like flames in the sunlight. “That’s really too bad, because I don’t do love.”

* * * * * 

Want steamier excerpts? Check them out on my website:

Principles of Lust

Passion Play

Sexual Healing

“Sasha White’s stories are molten lava all wrapped up in spun silk. Richly emotional and highly passionate, these erotic stories take the reader on a sensuous journey inside the bedroom and out. These sexually explosive novellas will undoubtedly leave you breathless and begging for more. Sasha White continues to have a spot on my keeper shelf.” -NYT Bestselling Author Cathryn Fox

“Within the pages of LUSH, you will discover three sensual tales that will have you laughing, crying and grabbing for a fan to cool off. Ms. White does an excellent job penning these short stories to read like full length novels. The characterization, imagery and intriguing plots will keep you mesmerized until you have finished the last page.” -Billie Jo, reviewer for Romance Junkies

Sabrina York: Seriously? Why Do Authors Write So Many Series?

Seriously? Why Do Authors Write So Many Series?

I was engaged in a conversation with a reviewer the other day and she asked, “Why is it so many authors are doing series nowadays?”As the author of three successful series, to which I, for some reason, keep  returning, I thought this was an interesting question and deserved some exploration.

Series vs. Serial

First of all, I would like to distinguish between a book series and a serial. A series is made up of standalone books connected by something. To be truly satisfying to a reader, each book should have a complete story arc for the major characters and should, if a romance, end in a Happy Every After (HEA) or a Happy For Now (HFN). In erotic romance, an HFN is more acceptable than in a mainstream romance.

In contrast, in a serial, you will read part of a story in each installment. Both types of books have their audience, but it is important for authors or publishers to note that a book is a serial in the marketing blurb so blood isn’t spilled when a reader, expecting a happy ending, gets a cliffhanger instead.

That can be awkward.

Let’s explore some of the reasons series are so abundant…

Inspiration

It takes a lot of work and emotional investment to create a character. Some flow from the pen fully formed, but most emerge like the peeling of a very obstinate onion (with lots of tears). Getting personal information from others is like pulling teeth.  Oftentimes, in the writing of a book, a secondary character snags our attention and we cannot help but be inspired to tell their story too. It’s easy and fun to do, because these characters already know who they are.

When I was writing Folly, my first outing in erotic Regency, this happened to me. I fell in love with James and Helena, the couple hosting our beleaguered heroine Eleanor when she needed a place to hide out. I knew I needed to write their story and toyed with giving them a break up so they could reunite in the second book.

While Helena railed at this idea (she does have a tendency to rail), James, in that dominating way he has simply crossed his arms and said, in a low authoritative tone, “I think not, Sabrina.” Needless to say, their story, Dark Fancy, ended up being a prequel to Folly. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to flout a direct order from James.

While I was writing Dark Fancy, of course, Edward (Dark Duke) and Violet (Brigand) started talking to me— Violet jabbering away about her romance with Ewan and Edward whispering into my ear about Kaitlin.

One book quickly became a series of four. Through no fault of my own.

A Familiar Place

Part of writing a great book is world building. Creating a universe readers want to visit again and again. A series provides just such a venue. I can’t tell you how many readers have told me they want to vacation on Tryst Island, the setting for my contemporary series, featuring the romances of a group of friends who share a vacation house. It’s not just because all the guys on the island seem to have cut abs and buckets of money. They want to walk on the beach, hang out at Darby’s Bar and Grill. They want to eat bacon with Holt. (Some of them—those with wilder tastes— want more from Holt.)

Readers love this “coming home” feeling, love “hanging out with old friends,” and a well written series provides that experience. The most addictive series also have, in addition to individual story arcs, an overarching series arc, with each book moving the grander story along. It’s fun to plant clues for loyal readers about what’s coming. It’s even more fun when they spot them and send me hushed emails about what they think is going to happen.

A caveat here. It is important for authors to remember, while they have loyal readers who have gobbled up every book—in order—there will be a reader who discovers the series mid-stream. References to incidents and people from previous books is exciting for the Read-In-Order crowd, it can be annoying or confusing to a first time reader. Those references belong in the book but must be carefully threaded through the story with an invisible seam.

I don’t know about you, but if a reader discovers my book, I want her to LOVE it. I want to keep her!

Passion

And I am not talking about the erotic type of passion here—I am talking about the emotional attachment to something you care about. If an author is in love with her series world and her characters, she can’t help but evoke that passion through her words. Readers will connect with that emotion and want to revisit these people and places again and again because of that attachment. 

My very first series, Wired, takes place in the offices of a tech company with one rule for management—no fraternization with the staff. Imagine the difficulties that occur when our heroes, to a man, meet the woman of their dreams (each in a different book), but she’s working for the company and, therefore, off limits. I never intended to write a third book in this series, but one reader was so passionate about one of the secondary characters (and I mean, she hated him), she demanded I write his story and, by the way, he needed a spanking.

Making Over Maris—a sweet, humorous Fem Domme—was born. It wasn’t easy turning someone I’d written to be the comic relief in one book into the hero of another. But through passion, and compassion, I was able to do it. Once I knew Jack, really knew him, I had to tell his story. The reader, also a reviewer, gave the book a stellar thumbs up.

The Bottom Line

The final reason authors love series relates to all of the above. It is, in fact, the bottom line. My series have far outsold my standalones by a factor of five. It is easy to understand why. If an author is passionate enough about her world to revisit it again and again, the reader is going to want to do so as well. Beyond that, that reader is going to tell her friends about the book and insist they tell their friends.

A series can create momentum for an author, for a line and for a publisher. In fact, Decadent’s One Night Stand series has hundreds of standalone stories by as many authors.

You will continue to see series abound on the bookshelves, my friend, because they satisfy on all levels.

And isn’t that what good writing is all about?

About Sabrina York

Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, writes naked erotic fiction for fans who like it hot, hard and balls-to-the-wall, and erotic romance and fantasy for readers who prefer a slow burn to passion.

An award winning author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers, her titles range from sweet & sexy erotic romance to BDSM to erotic horror. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york, on Facebook or on Pintrest. Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on Amazon or wherever e-books are sold. Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Don’t forget to enter to win the royal tiara! Download my Free Teaser Book filled with excerpts and reviews: http://sabrinayork.com/home-2/sabrina-yorks-teaser-book/

Series by Sabrina York

WIRED

Adam’s Obsession (Erotic Contemporary, Ellora’s Cave)

Tristan’s Temptation (Erotic Contemporary, Ellora’s Cave)

Making Over Maris (Erotic Contemporary, Ellora’s Cave) —Coming November 6th

NOBLE PASSIONS

Folly (Erotic Regency, Ellora’s Cave)

Dark Fancy (Erotic Regency, Ellora’s Cave)

Dark Duke (Erotic Regency, Ellora’s Cave) —Coming February 13

Brigand (Erotic Regency, Ellora’s Cave) —Coming soon

TRYST ISLAND

View the series trailer here: http://youtu.be/uJ1rhyeLkAM

Rebound: A Tryst Island Erotic Romance (Erotic Contemporary, Available on Amazon)

Dragonfly Kisses: A Tryst Island Erotic Romance (Erotic Contemporary)

Smoking Holt: A Tryst Island Erotic Romance (Erotic Contemporary)

Heart of Ash: A Tryst Island Erotic Romance (Erotic Contemporary)

Devlin’s Dare: A Tryst island Erotic Romance (Erotic Contemporary)—Coming soon

ONE NIGHT STAND

Fierce (One Night Stand, Decadent Publishing)

CURRENT PROMOS

Enter to win a signed print copy of scorching Regency romance, Dark Fancy on Goodreads! https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17409083-dark-fancy

Sign up for my newsletter & contest: http://sabrinayork.com/sabrinas-contest-and-newsletter/

FOLLOW SABRINA

Like my Facebook Author Page https://www.facebook.com/SabrinaYorkBooks

Follow me on Twitter @sabrina_york

Follow me on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5817917.Sabrina_York

Check out my Pintrest boards: http://www.pinterest.com/sabrinayork/boards/

Like my Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Sabrina-York/e/B00856PDEO/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1382929432&sr=8-2-ent

Check out my Barnes & Noble Author page: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/sabrina-york

Follow me on Ellora’s Cave: https://www.ellorascave.com/index.php/authors/index/author/slug/sabrina-york/

Because short is sexy… (Contest)

I’m a busy girl. I rarely have the luxury of time to sit down with novel and read it cover to cover. So, it’s natural I love to read short stories. My love of reading them led me to writing them, and eventually to editing my own collections of short stories. Here’s a snippet from a short story of mine that the British publisher Black Lace published, entitled “Have Sex Will Travel.”

click on the cover to buy

Post a comment today and you’ll be entered to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

The Russian’s fingers did it for her.

As annoyed as she’d been with his arrogant set down on the train platform before they’d boarded, one look at his hands as he clutched his newspaper in front of his face and she was mesmerized, unable to drag away her gaze.

He had large hands, shaped like shovels, dark, sparse hairs sprouting below the second set of knuckles. His fingers were long—the tips blunt and thick. His nails were clean, trimmed, but not filed or buffed. He had a man’s large and capable, but unfussy hands.

Evie surreptitiously clenched her thighs. Two of those thick, blunt fingers would equal the girth of the last cock she’d had thrusting up inside her. Three would stretch her to the point of delicious pain. His palms would be slightly calloused, but she could already imagine the feel of them rasping over her breasts. Her boyfriend’s hands had been as soft as hers.

The newspaper snapped, and her gaze shot up to meet his over the top of the pages. The same narrowed glance he’d given her on the platform now seemed to hold a hint of challenge.

Evie’s cheeks grew warm. He’d caught her staring. At his hands. At the long fingers curling tighter around the paper he held in front of him. He probably knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

She glanced away, reaching for the backpack at her feet and pulled out her itinerary to review it for the hundredth time, staring at the pages, but not really reading.

Something deliciously unexpected arced in the air between them. An electric charge of sensual curiosity that didn’t dissipate the longer they sat, side-by-side, on their red-upholstered bench, pretending not to notice their deepening breaths or the number of times they restlessly shifted in their seat. It wasn’t the vibrations beneath them from the train ripping down the track, even though the steady even hum added a subtext to their restless movements.

Evie crossed her legs, wishing she’d worn something less comfortable than her favorite pair of faded blue jeans and a Three Doors Down concert T-shirt. She dressed like a grad school student in a state of arrested development, which she was. Or a teacher who’d saved her meager salary to splurge on museum tickets rather than a holiday wardrobe. Also true.

The Russian wore a dark brown business suit. A summer wool that fit him well without an overly tailored cut that would hug his frame. He’d left off the tie. His dress shirt was opened at the neck to reveal the base of his throat and give a hint of the dusting of dark hair that clothed his broad chest. Comfort seemed to be his priority over style.

The paper lowered to his lap, and Evie suppressed a groan, caught again. His gaze rested on her—telling her silently he knew she’d been watching him.

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s not as if I have anything else to do,’ she muttered, knowing he didn’t understand a word she said.

A soft snort was his response. Then he folded the paper and stuffed it into the handle of his brief bag. He crossed his arms over his chest, then began a slow perusal of her body that left her slightly outraged—and incredibly aroused—beginning with her breasts and sliding slowly down her body.

Was he truly attracted? Or did he think he could intimidate her into giving up her berth? That he hadn’t wanted to share the small compartment with her had been apparent in the low, heated argument he’d had with the attendant who checked their tickets and collected their passports.

Having been shocked that she’d been given such a nice accommodation in the first place, no doubt a mistake but one she wasn’t going to admit, they’d have to pry her cold dead fingers from the sides of the cabin door to remove her now.

She’d withstood her cabin-mate’s irritation, ignoring both men as they spoke and gestured toward her until The Russian had uttered a low curse, unmistakable by his tone, raked a hand through his straight brown hair before finally, grudgingly, taking his seat. He’d made a great deal of noise opening and slamming his case, drawing out his newspaper and raising it so high she knew he wanted to tell her she didn’t matter. He would simply ignore her.

Only it seemed he found it impossible to dismiss her. Was his predatory stare simply his new tactic to drive her out?

Oddly, Evie found herself growing amused. Let him stew. Let the tension grow so thick that neither of them could pretend something wasn’t happening here. ‘I’ll be out of your hair by morning, anyway,’ she drawled.

While his dark gaze lingered on her breasts, she eased back in the seat, straightening her shoulders so that her breasts lifted subtly. If he kept looking, he wouldn’t miss the sight of her nipples beading beneath the thin material of her bra and tee. She unfolded her legs and crossed them again, drawing his gaze down to her long legs. She might not have fully fleshed-out curves, but her slim body did manage to pull male glances everywhere she’d traveled so far.

One asset in particular seemed to hold their attention longest.

Knowing she was being a little devious, Evie bent over to rifle through her pack, pretending to reach deep for something while her cropped tee slid up her back to reveal the upper edge of her turquoise thong.

When she straightened, she caught his glance sliding away from her bottom. Feeling smug, she couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the edges of her lips and turned her head to lock her gaze with his, returning his challenge without blinking.

Only maintaining that stare proved hard. The longer she looked into his face the more she took note of his strong, square jaw, the dark, slashing eyebrows that overhung deep-set brown eyes, the thin sensual lips that firmed while she continued to look.

Suddenly, he stood, his height towering over her. He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it, laying it atop his brief bag. When he sat and pulled off his shoes and socks, Evie’s triumph wilted, wondering what he was up to now. Without glancing her way, he stood and opened the cabinet above her head to fold down the upper bunk.

Evie quickly ducked to keep from getting bumped. ‘You could have given me a warning,’ she said grumpily.

Another soft snort had her tilting up her face to meet his steady stare. His hands pulled open his belt, unbuttoned the top of his pants, and he efficiently pulled his shirttails free.

Now, the air inside the compartment grew stifling. Her heart thudded dully in her chest as he stripped away his shirt and folded it neatly over his discarded jacket.

His naked chest drew her gaze. Helpless to resist, she conceded his body was attractive even if his behavior made him seem a total jerk. Broad, rather than lean, thickly muscled, his waist narrowing proportionate to his size—she knew he’d blanket her completely, press her deep into thin travel mattress if he lowered his body over hers.

Unwilling to let him mock her a single moment longer and needing to move now that excitement hummed through her body, Evie gave him a disgruntled frown and slid her bag along the floor with her foot. She stood in the small space between him and the bed, and then sidled toward the sink near the entrance of the cabin.

She watched him in the mirror, saw his gaze rake her back, lingering on her buttocks and thighs, and reached a decision she was sure she’d regret later.

Right now, however, her body was beginning a slow burn that quickened her breaths, tightened her nipples, and softened her sex. She’d started this journey needing to fill her life with experiences she’d never have back in her own prosaic little world.

Experiences. New challenges. Obstacles for her to overcome on her journey to discover herself as a single woman in charge of her own destiny.

Her boyfriend’s defection, which had forced her to make this trip on her own, had stung. Her self-esteem had dents large enough to park a Hummer inside—but The Russian had been checking her out. She thought, that just maybe, she was ready to put to rest any doubts she had about her ability to attract and seduce another man.

She quietly twisted the lock on the door to ensure their privacy. Then without looking back, she slowly drew her shirt over her head and dropped it beside her feet. Unfastening her bra, she let it slide off her arms, not caring where it landed either. She slipped out of her leather slides and unbuttoned her jeans, pushing them down to her thighs. When she bent to push them the rest of the way down, she heard a throaty murmur behind her, and her body reacted immediately, urgently, dampening the crotch of the panties that were the only item of clothing she still wore.

She straightened and tucked her fingers beneath the bands at her hips, and drew a deep breath for courage, then started to push them slowly down.

Hands closed over hers, halting her. Had she misread his interest? Evie’s breath rasped as her courage fled. Heat filled her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

His large hands squeezed hers, pressing them to her sides, telling her to keep them there. Then he slowly glided up her ribs. When his long fingers nudged beneath her breasts, she couldn’t help the shallow, breathless moan that escaped her lips.

Heat encompassed her back and buttocks as his body pressed against her. They stood for a long moment, tension keeping both their bodies stiff and their breaths deepening. Evie waited to see whether he would follow through on the promise of his touch. Did he wait to see whether she would change her mind?

Wanting to make sure he understood her compliance, Evie clutched his hands and lifted them to cup her breasts.

His murmur—thick, guttural, incomprehensible—turned her on every bit as much as the way his fingers tightened on her breasts. He didn’t give her a tentative, exploratory massage. He held her breasts and squeezed while his knees nudged the backs of her thighs and his cock rutted at her bottom through the trousers he still wore.

Always a ‘talker,’ Evie let her head fall back against his broad chest. ‘Again. Do it again,’ she moaned, welcoming the rock of his hips with an undulating caress that rolled across his thick cock.

One hand dropped from her chest to slide down her belly. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic banding her panties and glided straight through her curls to cup her sex.

His fingers rolled across her pussy, tugging and tightening against her outer labia, coaxing more moisture to seep from her and coat his fingers with her honey.

Evie reached up, sliding her hand behind his neck, surrendering to his manipulations, widening her legs give him access to stroke deeper.

One finger slid between her lips and thrust inside her, swirling, circling, driving her crazy because she wanted that second thick finger, needed that fullness sliding inside her to get off. ‘More,’ she moaned, rolling her head on his chest, rubbing a hand atop the one clutching her breast, following the length of his arm with the other to encourage him to give her what she needed.

A harshly muttered epithet, one she understood, was all the warning she got, before he withdrew from inside her and turned her quickly in his arms.

Staring up into his face, Evie’s head fell back and her chest pushed against his, her nipples tangling in the hair furring his chest. Chest hair hadn’t been something she’d ever given much thought, but now, she knew she preferred a chest clothed exactly like his. The crisp curls abraded her spiked nipples and scoured her areolas. A delicious shiver shook her body. She gasped as he hauled her up, his hands gripping her waist.

And because there was no way in hell she was letting him change his mind now, she wound her legs tightly around his waist and swooped down to take his lips in a searing kiss.

His lips held firm, not opening.

Undeterred, Evie softened her own, gliding them wetly over his mouth, sliding along his cheek and jaw as she wound her fingers in his hair and tugged. She tightened her legs, pressing her open sex against the front of his pants, confirming his hardness.

Whatever his problem, it wasn’t because he didn’t want her.

She rubbed against him again, and lifted her mouth to stare into his narrowed gaze. ‘Don’t you want this?’

His stare was so intense, so dark, she hesitated for a moment. It was the same expression he’d worn on the platform, but now she knew it wasn’t annoyance.

Just a note…

January’s nearly gone and I’m racing toward the finish line with two projects. Which means I have little time to spend here. I write throughout the day, trying to keep my butt in the chair although I am easily distractible. I’ve been spending my evenings unwinding with my dd’s family, enjoying the new baby, and then it’s back home where I putter for an hour or two making things in my art room. Then straight to bed.

Last night was really cold, so my cat who loves being outdoors, joined me in bed. She’s a lovey. Or rather loves to bite. Little nibbles that grow harder the more you pet her. She was a feral cat I adopted a while back. I think I told you the story about her before. I’d fed her over the fence for weeks because she was too wary to come closer. Then one night, during that huge full moon on Friday the 13th, something about that moon hadn’t occurred in hundreds of years… Anyway, I was out there at 2 AM watching that pretty moon in the middle of my driveway when I felt something furry moving in figure eights around my ankles. Scared the crap out of me. Ever since, she’d been mine and stayed close to my back door. She chose me. I call her my familiar. And I named her Pumpkin because she’s the spitting image of my very first cat, Pepita (I love Mexican spiced pumpkin seeds).

And there I thought this was going to be quick.

Eden Connor: Incidental Contact

First, let me thank you, Delilah, for letting me drag these two love birds over to your place for an interview. This is Eric De Marco and Amy Sizemore, the main characters from my latest release, Incidental Contact, a New Adult erotic romance, set on an eight-hundred-acre peach farm in Upstate South Carolina.  Although it’s the third book in my contemporary romance series, Those Devilish De Marco Men, Incidental Contact may be read as a standalone title and is approximately 93,000 words.

Eden:  What were you doing the day before your story began, Eric?

Eric:  Trying to dodge a boatload of exes, all hell-bent on helpin’ me spend an insurance settlement.

Eden: Why was that a problem?

Amy: Oh, let me take that question. He’s pollinated half the flowers in the county, if you get my drift. Not  one of those women could see past his pretty face, but they were sure ready to help drain his savings account. He is pretty, is he not?

Eden: Meh, if you like tall, dark, handsome blue-collar boys bulging with muscles earned from hard work, I guess he’ll do. What made you different? What did you see in him that no one else did, Amy?

Amy: Well, I’m short, round, and a stone-cold tomboy, so I know how it feels to be underestimated. Eric’s more than a pretty face. He’s smart. He should’ve been an engineer. I take that back, he is an engineer, he’s just self-taught.

Eden: So, how did the tomboy and the bad boy get together?

Amy: He, uh, made me an offer. I was temporarily homeless, so he said if I’d move in with him and help keep the vultures at bay, he’d teach me to feel sexy.

Eric: And I succeeded, too. Just look at her now.

Eden: Yes, she has changed quite a bit. We have time for one final question, Eric, rumor has it, you had a little trouble getting it up?

Eric: Damn small towns. Can’t keep a secret for nothin’.  Okay, if you must know, I did have some problems  keepin’ lead in my pencil, did, but not why you think. Let me explain—

Eden: I’m so sorry, Eric, Delilah’s giving me the sign that we’re out of time.

Incidental Contact (Book #3, Those Devilish De Marco Men)

What if a random kiss with the wrong woman feels like more than incidental contact? What if you sense every mistake brought you to this place, with this person? What if you know you’ll have to clean up your bad-boy past and can’t offer her much of a future, but you’re determined to win her heart? What if you’re also having…performance issues? Welcome to Eric De Marco’s world. First person to say ‘go hard or go home’ gets his ass kicked.

(excerpt)

Cold air made an icy blanket on her wet skin. Her nipples could cut diamonds. When he lowered his eyes, anticipation sent jagged heat streaking though her, leaving thunder subsiding in her core.

She had to hold onto something, so she dared to rest her hands on his shoulders. She felt awkward, unsure what to do next.

“Let’s get that tense look off your face.” She felt his muscular thighs press against her knees, moving them wider.

She stiffened. That’s not bubbles. A strong jet of water rushed against her folds. She tried to shift away from the stream, but he held her fast.

“Relax, Amy. Let it happen.”

The jet of water felt soft, yet the slender stream flayed her clit with insistent pressure. Holding her gaze, he rubbed his lips across one extended nipple. Slowly—oh God, so slowly she thought she’d die—he rasped her aching point. Raising his head a notch, he worried the peak with the stubble on his chin. Each prickling scrape sent daggers into her core. He nipped the hard bud.

The gentle torture made her cry out with frustration until he took a warm, soothing lick. The entire time, that forceful jet of water danced over her clit. His licks mingled with nips until her sensation of being cold disappeared. All Amy could feel was the heat from his tongue and the strong ache coiling inside her—and that jet of water driving her mad.

Purchase Incidental Contact on:  Amazon | B&N| All Romance | iTunes

About the Author:

Eden Connor graduated from Converse College with a degree in Psychology so long ago, her sheepskin is chiseled in stone. She’s been a graphic artist, a bridal photographer and an antique restorer. Since the death of her true love, she raised two children to adulthood and now has the time to return to writing. She writes primarily contemporary erotic romances, the odd bit of erotica and an occasional paranormal piece. Most of her writing is set where she lives, in South Carolina, so expect the handsome stranger to come equipped with a slow drawl. Addicted to hazelnut creamer, baseball and cranberry glass, she likes the music of Motown and when not writing about adults behaving badly, she takes a stab at the occasional needlepoint canvas.

Find her on:

Blog | Facebook | Twitter

Elizabeth Andrews: Old Habits Die Hard

Old Habits Die Hard

I’ve been pondering some (bad) old habits lately.  Not because of any resolutions I made for the new year, because I quit making resolutions I wasn’t going to keep ages ago.  Just pondering in general.  And not just habits, but maybe things I’ve believed about myself for such a long time that they’ve become habits.  Those kinds of things don’t have to stay habits, if one really wants to change, but once a person has settled into that rut, it’s hard to get out of it. 

Like meeting new people.  Social situations where I don’t know many people make me uncomfortable to the point where I tend to stay to myself and the few people there I do know, whether it’s offline in my ‘real life’ or online in groups I’ve joined specifically to meet new people.  Silly, right?  To meet new people, you have to risk rejection, and it’s much more pleasant to avoid that altogether and just stick with people you know will treat you well, who already like you.  But how many other people are missing out on making new friends because of that same ‘habit’?  I’m fairly certain I’m not alone there.  That is one habit I’ve determined I’m going to change, difficult as it is. 

Or telling myself I’m good at last-minute desperation moments, like at work last week when we found out an unexpected delivery was coming the next day and had nowhere in the stock room to put it.  By the time my shift was over, we had plenty of room for it.  But I was beat, bruised and sore.  And I really am too old for that crap.  But other last-minute situations arise, like something for one of the kids at school, or for myself.  I have to admit, however, that some of those don’t necessarily need to be last-minute situations.  That one is a long-seated ‘habit’, too, since I used to wait till the night before a paper was due at school to write it, or the night before a test to start studying.  Then, there are so many other, more pleasant things to do, so that icky stuff like homework, well, that’ll just wait, right?  But as adults, we’re expected to make better decisions than teenagers.  I wonder if it’s possible to kick habits like that?  Maybe not for a teenager, but as an adult?  I think it can be overcome.  Eventually. 

My messy work area here in the office is another bad habit I should really kick.  I have a towering stack of books on one corner, and paper piles in several other places.  Periodically, I do clear my space, but it never lasts.  I always think I’m going to need this email, or get right back to that list, and somehow, it’s six months later and I can barely see my monitor over the mess.  Too many stories waiting to be told to bother with cleaning.  Too many family things to do to obsess over every speck of dust on my desk.  Wherever the desk is under there.  Maybe.  That habit is actually on my list for this year, as in, regularly clear off the work space.  It’s a really good thing there are eleven more months in the year, because I haven’t made much progress on this yet. 

How many other bad habits like that are there?  Probably more than I can count.  How many of them am I guilty of?  Probably far more than I want to admit to in a public venue. 

I have a heroine in a manuscript I’m working on who is having to change her mindset about some ‘habits’ of her own, which is, I suppose, why I’ve been thinking about my own bad habits.  She has gotten into a situation she never dreamed she’d be in, and her old habits are going to hold her back from getting the one thing she most wants in the world.  Unless she can change her mindset. 

So while I’m helping her change her mindset, I’ve got more work to do on my own.  How about you?  Any old habits you’re trying to break this year?  Or at least modify?  Maybe we can work on them together. 

Elizabeth Andrews

http://elizabethandrewswrites.wordpress.com

Twitter: @elizwrite

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ElizabethAndrewsAuthor

Hunting Medusa, 1/28/14

Samhain Publishing

Flashback: A Perfect Trifecta (Contest)

G’mornin’!  I overslept. And it was totally lovely. There’s nothing better than sinking into memory foam, with a white noise machine making a soft whoosh sound to cancel out the sounds of anyone else moving around the house, to encourage one to linger. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t afforded myself that luxury in a while.

Yesterday, I worked through the first set of copyedits for the last book in the Delta Heat series. You remember those books, right? Sultry Memphis, sex club La Forge, five best buddies who also happen to be cops and into BDSM? I had so much fun writing this series. Just the titles make me smile: Five Ways ‘Til Sunday, Fournicopia, A Perfect Trifecta, Twice the Bang… What’s not to love? The last story, Once is Never Enough won’t be out until May, but that gives you time to re-read each of the prequels, one a month until Once releases.  And if you’ve missed a book, well maybe you’ll be lucky enough to score a free copy today!

Post a comment today and you’ll be entered to win a free download

of the reader’s choice from the Delta Heat series!

Playing with pain can put you in a world of hurt…or bliss.

Playing switch in front of a La Forge BDSM club audience was supposed to be a one-time fling. A favor for a friend. Instead, when Craig Eason realizes he’s caught the attention of an enigmatic, powerful Dom across the crowded room, he senses this could be the man he’s been looking for to test the boundaries of his own sexuality.

Firefighter Aiden Byrne is a very private man with strong S&M longings he keeps in check for everyone else’s safety. His sub, Jennifer Callum, thinks she likes it rough, but he can’t let go the way he’d like to. Until one defiant stare from the handsome cop on the La Forge stage causes Aiden’s most dangerous needs to uncoil from the deepest, darkest part of his soul.

With the blessing—and active involvement—of his sub, a seduction is set in motion that ends in a scene that shakes them all to the core…

Product Warnings: Contains a powerful, burly firefighter who plans to take everything a hot cop thinks he knows about himself and send it up in smoke. Please replace the batteries in all your smoke detectors before reading this book. Contains scenes with m/m/f, m/m, spanking, flogging, restraints, and one wild orgy of pleasure.

At the sound of her feminine distress, Aiden sighed, pleased with her. Surprised, too, with how well he and Craig had worked her, together.

Every bit of pride was dashed. Her body trembled uncontrollably. Right this moment, she was beaten. Remorseful for her earlier maneuvering. A sorry now wouldn’t be remiss, but he didn’t expect it. She could barely think, she was so over-stimulated and disappointed.

Now was the time to bring her back. She wouldn’t be looking for any heavy-duty pain, just release. He could be with her the way he needed, the way that didn’t scare him. And Craig would add an extra bonus to let her know that her Dom cared enough about her upset to make it up to her in a grander way.

“Roll the bed from the corner, Craig,” he murmured to the other man, softly enough she couldn’t hear over her harsh, sobbing breaths.

Craig gave a nod. His face was flushed. His body gleaming with sweat.

Aiden had yet to use him as anything other than a helper, but he supposed it was time to reward Craig for doing everything he’d asked while managing to remain suitably dominant during his interactions with Jenn. Craig appeared to naturally glide toward dominance with a woman.

While Craig rolled the bed to the center of the room, Aiden circled the bench and knelt. He unclipped the clamps and set them aside, then unstrapped Jenn’s arms and ankles. She didn’t move. Her face was pressed into the leather upholstery. Tears smeared her cheeks.

Aiden raised a hand and cupped her head, giving her hair a caress. “Are you all right?” he asked, but he knew he hadn’t pressed too far. He waited to see whether she’d lie and berate him or snuffle some more.

She surprised him by sniffing then wiping the tears from her cheeks before turning her head to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what you’re apologizing for?”

“For trying to top you.”

He leaned close to press his forehead against hers. “I’m not angry with you. I expect it.”

Her lips curved, slightly. “And I expect punishment.” Her wet, starred lashes fanned downward.

He kissed her temple. “You’re always free to call a halt.”

“I wouldn’t. Ever,” she said breathlessly.

So she always said. She insisted on there being no safe word between them. “Just so you know you can,” he said, speaking slowly to make sure she understood.

She gave a little nod, more of kitten’s caress that rubbed against his hand. Cute. Lord, she was beautiful. Perfect for him. Why hadn’t he fallen in love with her? His chest filled. Grew tight.

He pushed up and walked behind her. He gripped the edges of the plug and slowly pulled it free. Then he opened a drawer in the bench and pulled out a packet of wet wipes. Once he’d cleaned her, he walked to the sink and washed the plug thoroughly, drying his hands on a towel before drawing deep breaths to steady himself.

He turned and faced the two who awaited his next command. She remained lying on the bench, her fingers beside her face. Her skin flushed and gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat.

Craig stood beside the bed, his head bowed, subservient now. Not a partner. By the strength of the arousal that kept his cock erect and pointing upward, he had hopes he’d be put to service in another way.

Well, it was time, wasn’t it?

Aiden schooled his face into a neutral mask, calming his expression while he forced his body, and especially his cock, to follow suit. “Boy…undress me.”

Craig’s eyes, though lowered, glittered with excitement as he strode toward Aiden. He knelt in front of him, then indicated with a hand that he wanted Aiden’s foot.

Aiden raised his foot and placed it on Craig’s naked thigh. Craig quickly unlaced the black leather work boot and pulled it off, tugged off the sock, then indicated for the other foot.

While his new boy worked, his head bent over his task, Aiden let his gaze roam over Craig. He noted the thick blond hair, broad shoulders and lean musculature. Craig was fit with nice definition in his abs. But his movie-star good looks weren’t what drew Aiden’s attention.

It was his precise attention to detail, the tension that rolled off him, as though he held back, knowing the reward would be great. He would submit because he wanted something. Not because he desired to serve.

And Aiden wanted a crack at that. Wanted to break the other man down, knowing in his gut that at the end, Craig was the kind of sub who would only serve one person—that while he played at submission, he wasn’t truly committed. He saw everything as a game with an end—turbocharged orgasms. Something Aiden wouldn’t tolerate from a sub of his own.

Craig dropped the second boot and sock then paused. His shoulders rose around a deep inhalation as he worked up his nerve. Aiden suppressed a smile and hardened his face, waiting for the moment Craig would look up.

Which he did a moment later. His glance skated up Aiden’s body, then met with Aiden’s. Aiden raised one brow.

Challenge issued, Craig’s gaze narrowed and dropped. His hands went to the button at Aiden’s waistband. He thumbed it open, gripped the tongue of the zipper and the fabric between his hands and pulled it down, careful to avoid touching Aiden’s cock. Then, inserting his fingers inside the waist of the pants, he peeled them off.

Goose bumps prickled all over Aiden’s skin at the first touch of the backs of Craig’s fingers against the sides of his thighs. He lifted his feet one at a time to pull free of the leather, then backed away from Craig and walked toward the bed where Jenn watched through the fringe of her dark lashes.

Aiden had intended that both he and Craig take turns petting and fucking Jenn, giving her everything she needed now that he’d broken her down. But it wasn’t going to be enough. Aiden wanted his own satisfaction, and that wouldn’t be achieved without pushing Craig as well. He wanted to see everything the cop brought to play. What he’d observed while Craig played the night before had left an indelible impression.

Aiden walked to Jenn and pulled her up from where she sat on the edge of the mattress. He held her face between his hands and kissed her mouth. A gentle smoothing of lips. She opened her mouth beneath his, and he gave her his tongue, gliding inward to tangle with hers.

Their tongues swept together, bodies not touching. As he drew away, he noted from the corner of his eye the pulsing of Craig’s cock. Aiden cupped Jenn’s chin and turned her head toward Craig. “I want to watch you two kiss.”

Randi Alexander: Redneck Romeo (Contest)

A Valentine Romance — Redneck Romeo: Red Hot Valentine

Thanks for letting me take over your blog today, Delilah.

Do you love Valentine’s Day, or hate it? When ten other authors and I decided to combine our Valentine’s short stories into a collection of books, I was surprised by how many authors chose to write characters that disliked the holiday.

I’ve always loved the day, and hubby and I still try to get a little time alone to celebrate it. But so many people don’t enjoy it, or call it crass commercialization at its finest. True, restaurants are overbooked and packed tight on the big day. And card stores and candy shops post giant reminder signs to lure in customers who do not want to forget their loved one on that day.

When my hubby, Kick, and I were newly married and on a tight budget, our evening out on Valentine’s Day consisted of heading to a card shop, picking out cards for each other, and exchanging them – unpurchased - in the store, then placing them back in the rack. I smile now because we must have looked like the nuttiest couple on Earth.

Then we went to a takeout restaurant and grabbed one meal to share, took it home, and stretched it into a multi-course dinner with an appetizer, salad, and dessert. While the supper with candles and cloth napkins was lovely, the time we spent together planning and shopping and cooking became the best part of the day.

How about you? What’s your favorite Valentine’s memory? Or are you a non-Valentines person? Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of another of my books, Cowboy Jackpot: Valentine’s Day.

When Genevieve Riley sneaks onto the O’Bannon Ranch to return a stolen heirloom, the boy she’d fallen in love with as a teenager, Nick O’Bannon, catches her before she can slip away. The problem is, he’s now a big, rugged cowboy, and those feelings from a decade ago resurface. She can’t concentrate on anything but picking up where they left off.

Nick can’t believe what his dogs cornered. Beautiful ‘Jellybean’ Riley, all grown up and sexier than sin. He never knew what tore her from his life when they were teens, just as their relationship was starting. With the heat radiating between them, he knows he can seduce her, but can he make her stay this time?

Here’s a sexy scene to tempt you:

“You’re not a very patient man, are you.” Genny’s hands rested on his thighs as she looked up at Nick.

“Eleven years is a goddamn long time to wait.”

She laughed, then took pity on him and sucked his head into her hot mouth.

As electric shocks skittered from his cock to his balls and along his backbone, he threaded his fingers in her hair. “Feels good. Don’t stop yet.”

She backed away and let his cock drop from her lips. “Yet?” Thankfully, she came forward again and drew him into her mouth. Her tongue licked a circle around his head, teasing and pushing him closer to climax.

“I don’t want to come yet. I want to make love to you.”

With a sexy hum, she sent vibrations through his cock.

Nick’s brain clicked off and his head dropped forward. “No.” He had to be inside her sweet pussy. Using every last functioning brain cell, he eased his cock out of her mouth and knelt in front of her. “Let me love you, Genevieve.”

The soft smile that curved her lips and the mellow expression in her eyes told him he’d said the right thing.

Wrapping his arms around her, he slid a hand down to the curve of her ass, then lower, cupping the firm globe.

She surprised him by doing the same to him. “Your ass is the sexiest cowboy butt I’ve ever seen.”

He resisted the jealous urge to ask her how many cowboy asses she’d seen. “You’ve got the sweetest tush in Texas.”

Her head dropped back with her laughter. “And knowing Texas the way I do, there’s probably a contest for that, too. Miss Sweet Tush.”

Nick’s heart thudded at her laughter. He hadn’t heard it in so damn long, and now he had her here in his home. “Ain’t no one going to be judging this beauty, but me.” He squeezed both her ass cheeks in his hands, pulling her bare mound onto his turgid cock.

“No.” Her smile left her face. “There’s no one else.”

Her words shot through him like a stray bullet. No one else. He’d like to keep it that way, even if he had to beg.

In one swift movement, he stood, picked her up, and laid her on the bed. “You’re beautiful.” He grabbed a condom packet from the nightstand drawer then lay next to her, caressing her thigh, feeling goosebumps pebble on her skin.

She cupped his cheek. “You’re beautiful.” Her brows drew together as she looked into his eyes. “You’ve become a kind, honest, thoughtful man.” She drew in a shaky breath. “The way you handled the home intrusion earlier, like a gentleman.” She grinned. “You didn’t sic the dogs on me.”

He would have handled it a hell of a lot differently if it had been a man in his house, instead of a gorgeous blonde. “You could’ve just shipped it here. The gun.” Yet, she’d shown up here on Valentine’s Day. “Sent it by courier, or something.” He pushed a lock of her hair from her cheek. “Why did you bring it yourself?”

Glancing away, she shrugged one shoulder. “I think I hoped to run into you.” Her gaze met his. “Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to see you again.” A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows. “Even if it meant you’d see exactly how unscrupulous my father was.”

That was a lot of deep psychology for two naked people to be diving into. “I’m just glad you’re here.” He rolled her onto her side so her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples poking sensually into his skin. “Let’s save the talking part for later.”

Her hand skimmed along his side to rest on his hip. “Best idea I’ve ever heard.”

Nick’s cock filled with blood, flying full mast again. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers. “I have to feel you under me, to hold you here.”

With a soft moan, she returned the kiss, her tongue tracing the curve of his upper lip. “I want that. Want you to make me yours.”

*~*~*~*~*

Redneck Romeo: Red Hot Valentine, is only $.99 and available now! Read the first chapter on my website or pick up your copy at any of these places:

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON CA | AMAZON AU

BARNES & NOBLE | KOBO | ARe | SMASHWORDS

Don’t forget to leave a comment for your chance at an e-copy of Cowboy Jackpot: Valentine’s Day.

Thanks!

Randi

“Rode Hard and Put Up Satisfied”

RandiAlexander.com

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My Books – read the first chapters and find buy links:

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-Free Read! A Gentleman and a Cowboy is available at Amazon, Smashwords, All Romance Ebooks, Diesel Ebook Store, Barnes and Noble

Meg Benjamin: The Sexy Ghost

The Sexy Ghost

Happy Medium, the third book in my Ramos Family trilogy, was released by Berkley Intermix on January 21. All three books are ghost stories, and they feature a family of reluctant mediums who only discover their powers when they’re confronted by some nasty ghosts who need to be eliminated.

When I started working on Happy Medium, I’d already used ghosts who wanted someone to avenge their deaths (the traditional ghostly function) in Medium Well and with ghosts who wanted to increase their power by sucking vitality from humans (a slightly less traditional ghostly function) in Medium Rare. So I’d dealt with ghosts seeking justice and seeking power—what else could they be looking for? Sex, maybe?

Succubi (and incubi, the male version), are spirits who get off on sex with humans. This idea has been around for a long, long time—Lilith, Adam’s first wife, is supposed to be a succubus in Jewish mythology, and succubi show up in folklore in a variety of cultures. Succubi are seductresses, who prey on unsuspecting men with their sexual skills. And they’re also shape-shifters, which allows them to assume the form of loved ones, or someone you truly covet.

My hero, Ray Ramos, has to contend with this seductive ghost, but he’s more repulsed than attracted. This particular succubus haunts the house he’s trying to renovate, and she’s set free when he takes part in a séance that was supposed to be fake. Unfortunately, when Ray, a hereditary medium, takes part in the séance, it becomes the real thing. Leaving Ray with a sexy ghost who has definite boundary problems.

But I along with Ray’s difficulties, I wanted to do something slightly different with my particular succubus. She also haunts my heroine, Emma Shea, who has a few self esteem problems. As it turns out, my sexy ghost finds female victims by convincing them her skills can bring them the man of their dreams. It’s a very seductive promise—let me use your body, and he’ll never leave you. My heroine knows better than most that that promise is fatal, but even she finds herself tempted.

In the end, Ray and Emma have to find a way to destroy the succubus without being destroyed themselves, all the while working around Emma’s employer, a phony television medium who has no idea what she’s up against—or even that she’s up against anything at all.

Here’s a little taste of what Emma’s up against:

She closed her eyes. If this room wasn’t safe, what room was?

You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing, the voice whispered. He’ll leave you soon.

Emma stiffened. “I know it’s you,” she muttered. “This won’t work.”

He’ll leave you because you’re nothing, the voice hissed viciously. You’re pitiful. Look at yourself. A fat frump. He doesn’t want you.

Emma’s shoulders tightened. She shook her head.

He’ll leave you. Why would he stay? What could possibly make him want you?

Her breath rattled in her throat, her hands fisting at her  sides.

I could help you. I could make him want you. The voice was smoother now. Almost seductive. Once he’d experienced what I can do, he’d never leave.

Emma shook her head, her heart hammering almost painfully. “Like you helped Amina? No thanks.”

An image flashed through her mind—Ray naked beneath her, staring up with glazed, adoring eyes. He’d never leave. She’d never have to worry. She’d have him always, all hers. No matter how fat she was. No matter how ugly.

All hers. Until the succubus consumed them both.

Emma closed her eyes. “No. I won’t. No.”

You’re nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

She turned toward the door, running, half-blind with tears.

 

The blurb for Happy Medium:

 

Love is good for the soul… unless it’s one that you’re trying to exorcise.



Ray Ramos has a problem–the King William District mansion he and his business partner purchased for a fast renovation needs more work than expected. Ray could use a quick infusion of cash. Enter Emma Shea, assistant to Gabrielle DeVere, the star of American Medium. Gabrielle is looking for San Antonio houses to use for her televised séances, and Ray’s fixer upper seems to fit.

When Gabrielle does a sample séance, Ray and Emma become the target of a touchy ghost with no respect for boundaries. After Ray learns his family has a special affinity for ghosts, the two decide to investigate the haunted house. It doesn’t hurt that Emma is immediately attracted to the laconic Ray or that Ray is intrigued by the buttoned-down beauty who seems determined to hide her considerable assets behind sober business suits. But can the two of them fight off a vengeful succubus bound to the house while getting a lot closer than either of them planned?

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